Need You Now
by ChasingRainbows90
Summary: Jac / Jonny fic - set around the time of Divided We Fall.
1. Chapter 1

**As I am coming to the end of college (WHOOP!) I decided to have a check of my college network drive thingy (my files on the college computer that you can access remotely) for any stuff I might need. Anyway as it turns out I've barely saved any college stuff on it but I did find fic (this one) that I've written a fair few parts of - I'd almost forgotten that I'd . I must have been working really damn hard in these lessons :D (and must have been blocked because I'm sure I'd have uploaded it otherwise)**

**Set during Divided We Fall.**

He stands with the pregnancy test in his hands, watching her. He thinks he can see the fear in her eyes, and he understands that. He doesn't want to show it, but he's terrified. He wants to be a father, has wanted a family for longer than he'd care to admit but this is a situation in to which he isn't sure it's fair to bring a child. In his ideal scenario his future child would have been conceived with the woman with whom he was in a committed long term relationship; married even. But there is a part of him that is pleased that his potential child was created with this woman. She is a woman who he loves, loves with so much of his being that it almost kills him to know that they aren't together, and yet a part of him hates her too. He hates what she does to him, how she has tried to strip him of his dignity; to put him in his place. She is the woman who he cannot be without, and yet sometimes he wonders how on earth he can be with her. He glances down at the window, the lines still forming, before he returns his gaze to her face.

"For once in your life be honest with me; what do you want this to say?" he speaks the words, and watches as her face changes. As she considers the question that he has asked. He watches as she closes her eyes, momentarily blocking him and the world around them out. He can see in the way her body language changes, how the question has unnerved her, forcing her to confront her feelings over this situation. Finally she opens her eyes, and he sees the torment in them.

"Positive" the word she speaks is barely audible and he almost finds himself doubting that he heard her correctly. He hadn't been expecting it, and momentarily it leaves him speechless. He sees the corners of her lips twitch up in the tiniest implication of a smile, at the moment between them. "And you?" the question falls from her lips, and he feels the way she watches him.

"The same" they are the words he knows she wants to hear, and that in many ways doesn't expect too. He isn't certain of his own honesty, though he has little doubt about hers. He thinks he wants the result to be positive, to have a child who will call him daddy and whom he will love. But their situation is so messy. They force themselves to be civil and professional on the ward, even going so far as to feign indifference – or at least he knows his is feigned. They talk so little outside of what is needed, no light hearted conversations at the desk. There is an atmosphere between them; a tension. If the result was negative, they wouldn't bring a child in to it; force the child to have parents who have to fight to be civil in front of the child even though they'll know full well the child is aware of the tension. If the result is negative, things would be easier. But then if it was positive perhaps the child could bring them back together, a thought that causes his own lips to twist upwards; and isn't that what he truly wants? Everything in his head is so conflicted.

"What's it say then?" she asks, flicking her wrist at the object in his hands. She is sure the number of minutes waiting has passed, though she wishes she had thought to time. He takes an intake of breath as he prepares himself to view his – their – fate; their future to be decided by lines on a viewing window.

He opens his fist slightly, revealing the test he holds in his hand. It's hospital brand, not one of the expensive ones in the shops that spell it out for. Pregnant. Not pregnant. There can be no confusion there. It'll even tell you the number of weeks. The age of your embryo. This is different though. Their embryo existed, she knew of its existence and didn't tell him, and now they stand here waiting to find out if it is still with them. There is something almost cruel about it, discovering its existence and loss in almost the same moment.

He forces himself back to the moment, to concentrate on the little viewing window. He forces his mind to work properly. He has done these tests on patients, to confirm they aren't pregnant before surgery and yet information which normally is routine to him suddenly seems alien. He has to think to remember what the lines mean, despite the fact it's obvious. He stares at the little window, willing it change again.

"Tell me Jonny" the words are a plea, she cannot wait much longer and he feels his heart hammering in his chest. Their fate decided, confirmed but the plastic object he holds. He looks up at her. He cans see the desperation in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry Jac" the words are whisper, he doesn't want to say them; to make it real. His fingers close over the test, hiding the window and it's taunting single line. He watches as her expression changes, her features crumple, folding in on themselves as a sheen of tears fills her eyes. He sees the realisation dawn on her, though he isn't sure if it's the realisation of the result or of her reaction; bringing home just how much this had meant to her.

He tries to reach out towards her with his free hand, wanting to comfort the woman; struck by the reaction she has, the emotion she shows. Through the sheen of tears, she sees him, studies his face. He watches this, the way she scrutinises him and then she is gone. He barely sees her go, the movement fast and desperate. He knows why. He cannot see her like this. He leans against the sinks in the ladies, holding the thin plastic in his hand, it suddenly feels a lot heavier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hopefully this is ok. **

She moves through the hospital until she can go no further, her body unable to hold her upright any longer. The weight of everything forces her to the ground and she allows the tears to spring from her eyes and to slip down her cheeks. The dark of her environment tells her she has somehow made it down to the hospitals basement, something for which is glad. She is unlikely to be found here still though she presses herself further back against the wall, aware that she is flanked on either side by two seemingly abandoned objects. She has no clue what they are, and no desire to find out. Instead she draws her knees upwards, trying to make herself as small as she can. She rests her head against her arms; the skin there becomes damp as her tears leach out on to it.

She should have known that this would happen. That the embryo would be lost, that having a child is something too good for her. She has done what comes naturally and destroyed it, like everything else in her life that had the potential to good. She had known, her risk was higher; she had known it like she knows the heart has four chambers. She known it and yet she had dared to allow herself to believe that for once, she would be the one to beat the odds, that good could come.

She had beaten the odds once; beaten the odds to even conceive the child, for it to have implanted in her 'unnecessary' womb. And she had thought that she was one of the lucky ones. The lucky ones who were given the chance, when they had seen the door slam so tightly shut in their face.

She had been scared, scared that she would be bad mother; that she wouldn't be able to love and nurture a child. Scared that she would destroy it. And yet she had been hopeful, bordering perhaps on happy. She had made changes, though small in the hopes of protecting a being so tiny. She had abandoned the bike she so loved in favour of the car she had less affection for, she had eaten foods that the being seemed to crave; eaten more in general because she felt the perhaps it would need more than she normally consumed. In little ways she had tried to take things more carefully, because she feared this moment; the moment when it became lost to her.

In some ways, she is so very unlucky. She is so few weeks. By her calculation she is just 5. If it hadn't been for that stupid gynaecologist and that ridiculous urine test he had made her take, she probably wouldn't even have known. She wouldn't have known that the bleed she had today was anything more than her period starting; she wouldn't have known it was in reality a miscarriage. So many pregnancies end that way, the mothers never knowing, probably never even suspecting.

So she is unlucky because she knew. She knew it existed and now she is trying to force herself not to mourn for something so tiny, something that had barely even existed at all and yet she had started to dream of its future; started to make even the most tenuous of plans, for a being that is little more than a disc, barely even 4mm in size.

For one so tiny, the dreams had been big. She had imagined the newborn that it would become, the howling screaming mewling infant who would be placed in her waiting arms. She had thought of the baby who would grow bigger, who she would watch reach milestones, who would grow in to a toddler with pudgy hands and an opening smiling face. She saw a child in a school uniform, walking through gates in to a building for the first time, the building they would spend the next seven years learning until they moved on to the bigger high school as a preteen. She thinks of the teenager who will go to college, who will learn to drive and move away to university, perhaps to medical school. She imagines watching her child in a cap and gown on graduation.

Only that dream is lost now; that future no longer attributable to the being that had been in her womb. It was stupid to allow herself to think that way. It is her own fault that she feels this way now.

Even when she had seen the blood, she had dared to have the small ounce of hope. The bleeding was minimal, that was what the hopeful voice had tried to tell her, its argument lost against the stronger clinical part of her mind that told her differently. There had been no more blood, no more cramping since then, but now she expects it to come. Knows it will come soon – nothing more than a period she will have to reason with herself as she swallows the painkillers to control the cramps; the physical pain.

The emotional pain is more complicated to deal with. She has her methods, those which would be considered unhealthy by that American woman they have pushed on to Doctor Valentine. But they work for her, they allow her to get through the day. They have served her well, getting her to this point in her life; though she knows the effect of them has been damaging.

She hears the bleeper at her hip. She has to go operate, to save a life though she couldn't save the one that had mattered most to her. She has to stand in an operating theatre and act as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing has happened. She has to do this for the patient, for the child. For the child who had appeared like a physical representation of the child in her dream.

She wipes away the tears that have stained her cheek and which still dare to fall from her eyes. She wipes them away and tells herself that she is strong, that only the weak cry. That she doesn't cry, that she cannot cry over this any longer. It is gone. Over. It was never to be. And once again the door will slam shut on her barren useless womb and the aching desire within it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hopefully this is ok :) **

He stands alone in the ladies, unsure of why he cannot seem to move away, aware that each passing minute increases the likelihood of him getting caught. If she was still here with him, the implications of this would be lessened. Certainly the hospital gossip network would come alive with the knowledge that Ms Naylor and Nurse Maconie were spotted in the female toilets, and by all accounts one of them was holding a suspicious plastic object but that was a much more favourable scenario than being caught here alone. Again he is certain the gossip mongers would be most amused by this turn of events, the nurse seemingly frozen clutching the object in the ladies – no woman around. They could have a field day guessing at whom the woman was, whose child he had fathered though he suspects most would immediately assume Jac. He is near certain this scenario is worse.

He doesn't know how he should feel; doesn't understand half of the emotions which are flitting through his mind, not sticking quite long enough for him to name it.

He doesn't think he has a right to mourn, to feel saddened. He has learnt of the presence of the baby at the same time it was lost. He had so little time. He feels cheated that she had not come to him earlier, talked to him about the pregnancy. But that would make this all the harder now.

Perhaps it is better this way, perhaps it would have been better if he had never known. But then he thinks of her. If he hadn't found out, even at this late stage, she would have had to face this reality alone. He can support her, even though she has run away from him yet again. He can offer her comfort, though he worries she wouldn't accept it, that she would push him away again to deal with this on her own.

She is too independent for her own good. It scares him, how she would rather face something alone than with someone alongside her, to support her. It scares him how little he knows of her and what made her that way. He knows that nothing good can have caused it; that now she expects nothing good can come to her.

He thinks back to that day. The day outside of the theatre. The day they had shouted at each other stupidly and wrecked the good that had come for them both. She had pushed him until he was forced to retaliate, forced to push her as she had pushed him. Words from both sides, designed to wound, to sting. Only now he sees the look on her face, sees the set of her eyes as he had spoken the words about 'who in their right mind would want a child with you' knowing full well that was part of the future he had dreamed of sharing with her. Only now he sees something in the way she had looked at him as he had said the words, a hurt beyond the wound he had intended to inflict. This is something greater and he doesn't understand it; knows that he has no hopes of having understood it then – or even now – because she wouldn't open up to him. How different could things have been if he had known about whatever had caused that look?

He knows that thinking about it cannot change anything, that dwelling on the past is of no use to him now. But he cannot help himself. He cannot help but wonder what could have been. He thinks of her and the night she had conceived the baby.

He would never forget that day. The one where the young doctor had lost her life, how the news had travelled, how nobody had wanted to accept the truth of it. How they had sought comfort in each other. They had been reckless, in not using protection. They had tried to be careful since that false alarm so many months previously; the negative test that she had faced alone. He thought now that she had sounded, almost disappointed when she had told him the result though at the time he hadn't taken much heed of it then. He thinks now that perhaps she had wanted a different result, just as she had this time. They had been careful and yet this one time she had allowed him to be careless – though he had presumed she was still on the pill. He looks at the edge of the white plastic stick he still clutches, and wonders if this had perhaps been her plan all along. Only it hadn't worked. Would she have even told him or would she have disappeared to have a child he would never have known about?

Perhaps that was all she had wanted, and yet that doesn't fit with what he knows of her. She isn't maternal from what he has seen, she is hardened and cold most of the time, struggles with human emotions not least her own. And yet her reaction to this was so different from what he would have expected based on that.

He turns to look in to the mirror, at his own face. He expects to see himself looking back, expression torn and unreadable. Only it isn't him, he sees. It is her. Her face outside of the theatre, that look in her eyes. That look that almost brings him to his knees now but which he had been blinded to then.

He has to get out of here. He looks down at the watch on his chest, he has to go watch the little girl, he has to be happy and playful. He looks in to the eyes in the mirror glass, sees Eve reflected in them beneath the pain, an Eve who slowly flickers away.

He grabs a paper towel from the pile, he'll wrap up the stick before he throws it in the bin, to hide it. He fears that she will return here and be confronted by it, he knows it is a ridiculous fear but he needs it gone.

He opens his fist to wrap it, to conceal the evidence. Only he finds himself staring at the little window once more, convinced his mind is playing tricks on him only it looks so very real. He frowns, he cannot chuck it away now so instead he wraps it tightly in paper and places it within his pocket, suddenly feeling all the more confused.


	4. Chapter 4

**This part originally didn't exist and this fic jumped straight to what is now going to be part 5 - but was previously 4 (which now means I have to slightly rewrite 5). Anyway I hope this is ok. **

He looks to the child in his arms. She has fallen asleep, in his care, while they wait for her 'mother' to come through the operation. She is the pictured of innocence, red hair fanned over his chest, framing her face like an auburn halo. She moves every so often, flexing her fingers or moving her tiny lips. He watches her and feels his heart constrict, he can almost imagine that this is his child – the one that he currently believes to be nestled, safe and secure, within Jac's womb.

The test is still in his pocket. He feels the weight of it – only he knows it is his mind playing tricks. The true weight of the item is minimal and yet he is acutely aware of it. Of the information it holds.

He still isn't sure how he feels, he thinks he is pleased. He has enjoyed having Eve for these few hours, he has always liked children and yet he is scared. Scared that even though he is the father of this child, he won't be allowed access as he would like, he'll be the babysitter when she can find no other; the last resort. He is saddened by the thought that he may be cast aside, forced to watch the pregnancy develop from afar, taking whatever crumb of information she will offer and being grateful for that. He thinks of the woman he knows, and her independence, and how sharing this with him will not come naturally.

The fact she wants the baby gives him some hope, that fact that it is a child – a tie – with him gives him this hope. But it does not relieve the fears, the panic rising in his chest as he tries to imagine how this is going to work between them, the raising of a child in a loving environment. They can't muck this up, they cannot afford too.

He sees a figure approaching the doorway, and for a moment he dares to hope it's her. That she has come to talk to him, to seek his support and comfort and how in the next few moments he can tell her the reality of their situation. He tries to imagine her face, how she will react. There had been tears before, devastation if he is honest with himself, so he hopes he will bring her happiness.

He feels his heart leap slightly as he hears the door opening, and feels it drop when he sees his friend appear in the doorway. His best friend, with a small smile; he wonders what she thinks seeing him here with the child in his arms. She doesn't know that this is his future, but there is something about her look at that troubles him.

"She came through the operation" it is she who speaks first, stepping closer in to the room. He smiles back at her now, looking at the sleeping child and then back up to his friend. It is a relief, the little family to be reunited though for how long they cannot be sure, decisions regarding Eve and the young girl who has raised her will need to be made but for now they can be happy.

"Can you watch Eve?" he switches the subject, shifting slightly and trying to work out how to transfer the child to his friend without waking her. It has been a long day, and the child deserves her sleep. Besides he is near certain that children do not appreciate being woken from their slumber. He watched as a strange expression passed over Mo's face, "I need to speak with Jac" he added, hoping that would be enough of an explanation. Her expression changes considerably then, and it confuses him all the more.

"You'll be lucky" the words are muttered, and he notices that she cannot quite meet his eyes as she says them. He tries to question her solely with his expression, needing her to explain further her comment. He hears the way she sighs, the way her mouth twists downwards as she thinks, her mind trying to work out how best to phrase this. He knows her too well, can tell so many things from so very little, "She disappeared after the surgery, I don't think I've ever seen her leave so quickly other than when the e" he watches as she pauses after the first sound of the last word, her brain stopping her mouth before it ran away with herself. He sees now why she cannot meet his gaze; there is something she is keeping hidden though he doesn't know what.

"Mo" he only needs to say her name, he knows she'll understand his question from just that. His tone is low but quiet for fear of waking the child who has remained so peaceful against him. He sees his friends gaze track downwards, to look at the child in his arm, her expression so strange before she glances back up at his face though still her gaze does not meet his.

"When the pains caused her to run out, y'know the second failed esophagectomy" he knows she is covering, has changed what she was originally going to say. He cannot compute what the original sentence was supposed to be, perhaps an explanation of those pains and yet hadn't she told him it was simply period pains – an excuse he had been forced to accept and it made no sense that Mo would know the truth over him. The fact that she had potentially opened up to his friend, over him, hurts; it stings for a moment as he tries to comprehend but then he feels the stick again, the weight of it dragging down the pocket and he tries to push the idea of it away. Was it possible that she had been pregnant then, that she was further gone than he thought; that he hadn't been told because the child was potentially not his but the paediatricians – but that does not fit. He had asked her, today, and she had not denied the child was his – she hadn't exactly confirmed it but was her denial enough to do so – he isn't sure and besides she would be around 17 weeks and he is near certain that her slim frame wouldn't be able to hide a rounded abdomen of that gestation. But those pains, could they have been the miscarriage of that child, the one whose parentage she had not known; or perhaps pains caused by her own hand at taking the child away. But that didn't fit with how she had reacted, this time to the negative; that she could commit that act yet be so upset at the 'loss' of this child or perhaps that was why. His mind is a jumble and he cannot seem to unscramble it.

"Why?" he forces out the word, unsure what he is actually asking for clarity about. There's so much he needs to know, he doesn't even know if his friend knows anything more than him and yet he wants answers from her. He can see conflicted reflected in his friend's face.

"I don't know, she seemed off in theatre; not quite on her A-game but" she pauses, and he watches as for a moment she sucks in her lips and closes her eyes, considering before she looks out towards the window, "not quite in the same way as she has been" she concludes, and he understands that. For weeks, Jac has been slightly off – from that day she'd had the pains first he thinks. But he understands why she is off today, he tries to think of her, of how she will try to act like everything is normal when moments before she had disappeared from him in tears. He knows she will have pretended to be strong, and yet obviously she hasn't done quite a good enough job because Mo has noticed. In fact, as he thinks of it Mo has been more aware of Jac in generally over the last few weeks, just little things like her face when he had given the time of the operation and Jac's response that she was doing the surgery or earlier that day when they had shared a look as he had approached them, enquiring as to their conversation; so little of this makes sense to him.

"Any idea where she went?" He asks finally, thinking that he is not going to get answers from his friend. She is careful in her responses, like she is protecting Jac even though he doesn't understand why. He knows what he needs to do, he needs to talk to the consultant; to tell her. He has to do this. He sees Mo's eyes widen and again that conflict, and something he thinks may even be guilt.

"She seemed distracted, like she needed to clear her head, to think" is the answer that comes finally. It is measured, yet uncertain like she is trying to balance things between protecting her and being honest with him, "maybe she had somewhere she needed to be even" she adds, lips twisted slightly and much more guilt colouring her face like she has said something that she shouldn't have even though he doesn't understand it. He understands so little, other than what is on the viewing window of the test stick.

"I need to find her" the sigh escapes his lips as he says the words, and he sees the way she nods as if she understands, though he doesn't get how she can; how she can understand something that makes no sense to him. He stands, still holding the child, and gently he passes her over watching for a moment as she shows signs of stirring before she settles back in to her slumber. He looks up at his friend, forces her to meet his gaze.

"She has a lot going on; be gentle yeah?" the words are soft, spoken in her most gentle tones as she cradles the child against her. He sees in her face, the care and concern and he nods, he already knows this but it seems to mean more coming from her. He strokes a strand of red hair away from Eve's face, and gives his friend a very small smile before he slips away from the room and prepares himself to comb the hospital for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**I really hope this is ok and thank you to anyone reading :) **

She sits on the fire escape steps, her body wrapped up in her Holby hoodie though it brings her little warmth. She knows she should go back inside, that her body is slowly beginning to freeze sitting her but she cannot bring herself to move. At the very least, the cold is numbing her or at the very least it is numbing her physically. Her mind refuses to slow, instead thoughts race within it, tormenting her with the knowledge of the single line that had existed on the test he'd held. She hadn't even seen it, and yet the image is emblazoned in her mind, the line dances and flashes; the neon sign telling her that the baby is lost. Only it isn't a baby, it wasn't yet even recognisably human but her mind tells her it was a baby, her baby and she cannot push that away.

She hears a sound behind her, and she turns slightly, she has been found and that surprises her. She hadn't expected anyone to bother coming looking. She has her friend, her Sacha, but he has much more important issues than her emotional wellbeing and besides which he doesn't even know; or at the very least she hasn't told him. So he wouldn't have come. There is the registrar also but she doubts she would come looking for her, yes she has shown care, concern even, but she doubts that is more than looking out for the interests of her best friend and what would have been his offspring rather than actual worry for her.

Her tear filled gaze comes to rest on the intruders face, and hastily she swipes at her eyes trying to hide the evidence of her tears though she knows it's in vain. She knows her eyes are red, and that her cheeks are streaked with the tears she has already shed, knows that her eyes gleam with those waiting to come. She doesn't want him here, would rather he walked away and left her to come to terms with it; only he comes towards her. She shrinks against the rails, wishing they could swallow her whole. He takes his place next to her, hands rested in his lap though she can tell he is itching to move an arm around her. She is torn as to whether she wants this, knows that if he does she'll fall against his body and that the sobs that are building within her will tear free. She knows she cannot afford to let that happen.

"Why're you here Jonny?" the question though directed at him is spoken in to the dark night. She can just about make out a few pin prick stars in the sky through her blurred vision. She hears him shuffle a little, trying to get comfortable on the hard metal. She is numb to that discomfort now.

"We need to talk" his response is careful, but he doesn't sound sad like she would have expected. This is a talk that she doesn't want; having to discuss it makes it all the more real. She wishes he hadn't found out – has no idea how he even did – and now they have to talk about how it no longer exists. They have to talk about why she didn't tell him but she can't do this now. She isn't strong enough to do this now, and yet she cannot let him see that she is weak either.

"Not now Jonny" the words come out as a shuddery whisper, and she hates that. She should have forced herself to sound harsher, more like her normal self but they slipped forth before she could do so. She closes her eyes, and tries to control her breathing, feels a shiver run through her. She feels him change position again, though she cannot bring herself to look at him.

"We should get you inside, you're freezing" he states the obvious, and she has to force herself not to shiver again though she isn't sure how long she can prevent it; her body tensed in an attempt of doing so. His concern touches her a little, but not much. She doesn't care anymore, it doesn't matter. She can sit here and freeze and it'll have no consequence, it won't matter anymore. If she wanted, she could go out tonight and drink as much as she wanted, to forget about the day, to drown the sorrows she feels despite trying to tell herself it doesn't matter. That really it is for the best.

"It doesn't matter" she whispers again, not pulling her eyes from the dark night. She hears his intake of breath, knows that the cold is getting to him far quicker than it did to her. It takes longer for the cold to penetrate the rock hard ice that she is formed from. That's why this is for the best, even the child wouldn't be able to melt the ice, she would become her mother and have abandoned the little being. But she had felt something towards it, felt the warmth in her heart at the thought of that future though she had tried to ignore it, tries to forget it now. Only it isn't so easy.

"The test was positive Jac" he says the words in a rush, and she blinks, thinking that she's misheard. She turns to look at him, tries to read his face. She can see concern in his face, concern for the state she is currently in. but she thinks he looks honest, genuine even and that she cannot understand. He had told her when she had pleaded with him for the result that it was negative, and that had made sense to her; she had known that his lips would form those words. And yet now he is saying something different.

"You said it was negative" she looks him in the eye as she speaks, letting him see her face and the evidence of the emotions she has shown. She sees his eyes searching her, studying her face and for the briefest of moments she feels shame and embarrassment that he can see her like this but she needs to understand, she has to see him to understand.

"It's positive" he repeats again, and she trusts that he is speaking what he believes to be the truth though she cannot understand this change. She thinks about how cold she is, and that she should be protecting the being, that she had lost all care. She swallows hard.

"But you said it was negative" she repeats, her voice suddenly harsher as she thinks things through. As she thinks of her run through the hospital, of trying to hide the evidence of her breakdown, of having broken down and trying to stop herself mourning, how she had struggled to do so, "was it a game to you? A way of checking that when I said positive, I was telling the truth. Did you honestly that that little faith in my honesty that you felt the only way to test me was to lie?" the words tumble from her lips as she feels anger grow within her, she watches his expression, his shock at her words. She wonders what on earth he was thinking of, and what he is thinking now.

"Jac, I" he tries to start but she holds up a hand to stop him, she doesn't want to hear his excuses. To her nothing can excuse the lie. She feels sick at the thought of it, of how he made her feel. She forces herself to swallow back the bile that rises in her throat.

"How could that seem like a good idea to you? To make me think that my one chance had been taken away from me, made me feel like I had lost everything; to make me think that my womb was nothing more than a barren wasteland so useless that it couldn't even protect my child when I'm already acutely aware of the pointlessness of this organ within my body. Or did you think that Jac Naylor is so truly the hardened icy bitch that everyone thinks she is that finding out her body has miscarried her child will have absolutely no effect on her emotional well-being; did you think that I was so cold, so unmaternal that I would perhaps even be happy; that I would have lied because that is what I wanted you to hear, what I thought you wanted to hear even though that doesn't fit with the image of me as the bitch? Was it worth it Jonny?" she feels the tears start to slip down her cheeks once more as she speaks, her words laced with a desperate anger. She sees the shock in his face.

"I wouldn't do that, I don't think that" she hears his own desperation, the way his words come out in a plea. His face blurs in front of her eyes and she turns back away from him.

"It's what you've done" she shakes her head, looking down at the step below her. She can't quite believe that he would do this to her, the hurt that she feels because of it. She cannot quite let herself believe that what he says is true, that she truly is still pregnant but she feels the slight budding of hope once again.

"That's not how it was" she wishes she could believe him, but now she cannot. It confirms to her somewhere in the back of her mind that she was right not to tell him, that he is playing games with her now. And this hurts her all the more. She had been forced over the last few weeks to think of him, to think properly about her feelings for him and she had come to realise that still she loved him; despite everything. And now once again love has left her hurting.

"Then how was it Jonny – how did a negative test suddenly become a positive one?" the question is once again asked in to the darkness and she feels her mind tick over, the sensible logical part of her taking over as something starts to make sense in her head. She breathes hard and fast, her heart racing as more tears rush to her eyes. "You idiot, please don't tell me you were stupid enough to look at the test again – that you waited more minutes and then you looked again; please don't tell me you were stupid enough to do that" she feels the bud of hope wither slightly in side of her, the pain returning as it does.

"I was about to throw it and I looked down and the second line was there, and there was the second line – a proper one; it was pink and everything" he speaks in a rush, and she feels the bile rising again. In this moment she hates him, hates him for what he is doing to her and the tangle of emotions he is causing. He had brought her hope once more and now he dashes it again.

"And how long did you wait Jonny? How long were you stood there before you looked again?" she sounds so desperate and she hates that about herself, hates the way she is almost pleading with him to give an answer that she wants, that will mean something good but she knows in her heart that it won't. She knows it's over.

"I don't know, five minutes maybe more, maybe less, I just don't know" he sounds confused, he doesn't understand why she sounds so desperate, why she is acting like this and she wishes he understood her more but that is her own fault. She has kept him pushed out rather than trusting him. In this situation she thinks she has done the right thing; that this pain proves that she was right about him and about her and yet she thinks things could have been different if she had been different, if she had been open.

"You idiot, you stupid idiot" words tear from her throat, joined by a sob which she wishes she had been able to suppress. Everything is slipped away from her again, and she has to get away only she is stiff from the cold, "everyone knows that after a certain amount of time, a negative test should be disregarded, that it can turn positive but it's still a negative test. It's still negative" she whispers the final sentence, feeling the tears run down her cheeks once again. _Negative _the word chases around her brain. Flashing like a neon sign. It dances on the black of the inside of her eyelids. Spelt out in the stars in the sky. It is everywhere around her and she cannot escape it.

She hears him try to say something, words that make little sense; that don't quite reach her ears properly, distorted by the night. She doesn't want him here, can't bear him near her, not like this. He cannot see this, cannot know what he has done. She pushes away from him, body stiff and sore. She walks down the stairs away from him, her shift is over. She can escape, get away from here. She has to get away from him, she cannot see him for now. She needs quiet, respite to come to terms with this. With each step, she feels another little part of her die, it hardens and withers. Her heart of black ice splinters, close to shattering completely. If she doesn't escape she will be lost once again. She hears her name called in his accent behind her, but she keeps going. Keeps going until she gets in to her car and she drives not knowing where she'll end up, vision blurred. She drives until she can drive no more, tomorrow she'll phone in sick, try to use holiday she is owed, anything to get time away from him and that place until she is stronger, until she can face them once more.

When she stops, she collapses against the wheel, one hand snaking down on to an abdomen which is empty beneath her fingers. and the silent tears become sobs that wrack her body.


	6. Chapter 6

**This part is kind of filler-y because while I've written part 7 (had little bits written for a few days, but needed to fill in the bits around it), this didn't really seem to fit within it yet I'm not sure it fits with being it's own part. So hopefully it is ok, as I am not overly convinced by it and I'll probably put part 7 up later.**

He closes his eyes for a second as he tries to contemplate what has happened. Everything seems so confused. For a week, she was been AWOL. He had worried that she'd done a complete disappearing act that he'd never again see her presence on Darwin ward and that had scared him. He had found himself trying to get information from anyone who could possibly help and all he had learned was she'd taken a small amount of leave for undisclosed reasons. This too had concerned him, worried for what she would do alone with her thoughts, but finally she had returned. She had walked on to the ward this day and acted like nothing was different. She was her normal self, perhaps more elusive with him, but for all intents and purposes she was the Jac Naylor that everybody knew and feared.

He had watched her closely, trying to note changes in her, anything that would confirm what he believed to be true – that she was indeed pregnant. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, knowing that logically she would not yet be showing but still he had hoped for a little sign. She knew he was looking, and he knew it made her uncomfortable. He had seen the looks flashed in his direction, as he took her in. The way her eyes told him to leave her be, to stop only he couldn't. He never had been able to ignore her, she drew his eye and he wasn't able – or indeed willing – to try to prevent it happening.

And then her body had given her away. They had been standing at the patients' bedside – a patient with whom she seemed to share a mutual disliking which had been almost instantaneous. She had been trying to pull the bed away from the wall, to take him down for surgery. He was certain she'd have attempted to do it alone, against all health and safety rules that hospital had because she was determined like that. She took no heed of the damage it could cause to herself. But her balance her wavered, he had watched the movement of her eyes and the paling of her face as the world had tried to slip away from her and she'd been forced to grip the bed for support, a bed which was unfortunately for her unlocked, but she had somehow stayed upright. She had tried to act like it was nothing, like it was something to be ignored. He had known it was something more, a sign and yet while he could see something in her eyes, a fear perhaps over what was happening otherwise she tried to carry on as before. Had tried until her body faltered again, and he had tried to intervene, to order her to stop before something happened and he had known instantly how wrong those words had been, the offense she had taken. But he had been unable to stop himself then, talking to her telling her she couldn't cope and watching as the confusion passed over her face as she contemplated the words and their meaning, he knew in that instant that she still believed the false negative, that as far as she was concerned she was not pregnant and that once again he was trying to force that she was on her. He watched as she walked away from him, tears gleaming in her eyes as she went, and the reality that once again he had made her cry.

And that had gotten him to this point; the point of knowing that she is somewhere within the hospital having once again disappeared. He knows she is still in the building because her bag is still in her office though her hoodie has disappeared from where it hangs, but he cannot seem to locate her despite trying so many different places; all of the ones he had tried to week previously and with no luck. But he knows she has to be somewhere; that he has to find her once more. He cannot even contemplate not continuing his search because he knows that wherever she is, she isn't in a good place. That though she would never admit it to him, she needs him. He sees it in her, and knows that he isn't just projecting his own wants, and desires on to her. In so many ways, he needs her too. Needs her in-spite of everything that she does to him, needs her because of so many of the things she does.

She worries him that she isn't taking care of herself because she doesn't know, or won't accept it. He could see it in her, the weariness and pallor of her skin. When he told her that she couldn't cope, he hadn't meant it cruelly, but as a stating of a simple fact that she was so very obviously struggling and he had hoped she'd be able to read in to this that he wanted to help her, to be there for her and to support her. Only she had taken it the other way, seen it as a critique of herself and realised that her normal mask wasn't holding so strongly.

He turns back to Darwin and sees the name on the board changing, the patient becoming Professor Hope's rather than hers, and he feels a flood of panic run through him at the change of name. It is so unlike her to hand over a patient, to relinquish control and in many ways to admit defeat. And that worries him all the more. It means something has to be wrong, seriously wrong. He stares at the newly written name as if it will give him answers, though he knows that is ridiculous.

He thinks of the patient, the man in the bed so near to him, the catalyst for this. The man had called her his missus. Her reaction confusing. Initially she almost turns on him in disbelief at the words but she does not deny it and that surprises him. Her immediate response was not to show that she'd lower her standards to be married to a lowly nurse such as himself. Yes she had denied it the second time he had made the accusation and yet she hadn't not completely at least, her breath stolen by another wave of dizziness. And that too gives him a little hope of a future with her, but right now he needs to find her and he tries to push these thoughts from his head.

He hears footsteps approaching, and he thinks for a moment he may be saved the search, but that makes little sense. He cannot see her searching him out after this, and sure enough seconds later his best friend whispers to him that a certain red head has been spotted. He flashes her a grateful smile before he dashes to grab his hoodie, ready to make the journey in search of her once more. This time he cannot let her escape, this time they have to confront things no matter how hard she tries to push him away. He slows his pace, trying to psych himself up for this, knows it won't be easier but he is doing it for her as much as he is doing it for himself, and their child. He walks through unfamiliar corridors and pathways in areas of the hospital he has never had any need to tread, preparing himself for what is to come.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm still not sure how this part came to be so long - I knew I had lots of little bits of scrappy notes and half typed sections; at one point it even had an in-text reference in it :-/ but hopefully this is ok. Thank you to anyone reading. **

He finds her leaning on metal rails, body slouched with her hair falling forward in to her face. She looks small, vulnerable as he approaches her and it strikes him that he has seen so many different sides of her and yet still he knows so little of her. He approaches her cautiously; joking a little that he has visited corners of the hospital that he had never known existed. He is near certain that this will do little for her but he hopes that perhaps it will draw even the smallest smile to her lips. He comes to a rest by her side, mirroring her position against the rails, and taking a glance at her in profile. If she'd have allowed it, he have liked nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, to pull her in to the safety of his arms and whisper words of comfort to her. She looks like she needs it. He watches the way she breathes in deeply, not bothering even to turn towards him, instead gazing outwards.

"Go away Jonny" the words come wearily to her lips, and he glances out to study what she is viewing. He sees nothing of interest, but he can see why she has chosen here, a place where nobody is likely to bother searching. He heaves a sigh.

"Why's Professor Hope's name on the board?" the question feels natural and he is curious as to how she will respond. He glances towards her, and then down at his own hands, a small smile playing on his lips as he realises how very alike they are, positions so similar and yet their outlook so different. She is drawn and weary, with her face pale and while he is suffering still from a heavy night, he knows that his issues right now are self-inflicted and for the most part physical. Her own suffering runs much deeper.

"I'm feeling a little under the weather, it happens" her body slumps slightly as she says the words, and once again he wants nothing more than to place his arm about her, to support her but knowing she will not take kindly to this, will see it as a slight of her ability. He feels his own eyebrows rise at this, wondering if this is her way of letting him know that she knows now. Perhaps she had disappeared off and done the test after the moment in the bay, realised the truth in that instant. He feels her eyes on him, and looks down to catch the slight roll of them as she speaks "Don't go getting ideas Jonny"

"Ideas?" the word is whispered in confusion, until he twigs her meaning that she doesn't want him to assume the cause of her illness. To him it is not an idea but a reality; it is as real as the two of them standing here. And yet she still can't see that, despite it growing within her.

"Y'know it isn't what you think it is" her voice is so weary, so tired that it almost kills him to hear it. She shouldn't be here, if he had his way he would bundle her up and drag her to her bed, tucking her in beneath the duvet and sitting with her in the dark until she slipped in to sleep. But he is unsure that even sleep would be restful to her, he has seen how some nights she sleeps fitfully though she claims upon waking that he is mistaken, painting on a mask to hide the evidence. Only he can see through that.

"The test" he starts his sentence, and watches as she raises a hand indicating that she wants him to stop. He can see in her eyes the desperation, the need not to have this conversation and yet he knows it is needed, that until they talk things cannot get better for either of them. He is doing this for her own good, though it pains him to do so. Pains him to know that this is going to be hard for her, wonders if she realises how difficult it is for him.

"Was negative" she concludes his sentence a finality to her words and she draws in a gulp of air to try to steady herself. She is still watching him, and he shows no sign of giving up. He knows she is waiting for the moment he does, the moment he will walk away only this time he won't. He stands, though he does not know what to say. "I can't deal with you today"

"Jac" he speaks her name gently, and he feels her eyes being drawn to his, locking their gaze on each other. There is so much pain, so much he doesn't understand in those eyes. They are eyes which intrigue him, they are startling and strikingly beautiful. They tell so much of her truth and yet hide so much more. They are eyes in which he can lose himself for hours.

"It's for the best Jonny" she whispers the words, pulling her gaze back out to the evening sky, watching as its colour gradually change to become darker more inky. If she has to talk she cannot do so while looking in to his face, and so she gazes outwards, knowing his eyes are still very much on her, "you'll get a clean break, from me and the wreck that was us" he can hear the hitch in the words, knows how very hard she is trying to convince herself that they are the truth that this – them – has never been what she has wanted, needed even. Still though she cannot turn back to face him, and he thinks it's because her eyes will betray her, contradicting the words which she forces herself to say.

"You can go and find the woman who will love and respect you, who will give you want you want. You'll get married in the church she has dreamed of since she was a child in the princess gown of white fabric that she has spent weeks searching for. You'll wear a kilt because she has begged you to do so and you'll fight tears as you see your angel float down the aisle towards your side. She'll give you children – curly haired children with your cheek and her beauty. You'll shop for wallpaper and borders to create the perfect nursery even though you'll have the baby in with you for the first few months. You'll cry at scans, give her bump some ridiculous nickname that you coo to it each night before you sleep placing kisses on taunt stretched skin, you'll cry as the baby is place screaming in to your arms. You'll end up with a Labrador, who will be your best friend and your child's protector. You'll have a house filled with mess but overflowing with love and laughter. You'll have a garden with flowers and probably gnomes. A rabbit for the child though care falls to you and the wife. It'll be chaotic and messy and unordered but you it will be perfect. Everything you have wanted, everything you have dreamed of within four walls and a square of grass" she tries to make it sound distasteful, like it is the worst thing she can imagine only he hears something more. Knows how secretly this is what she wants for herself only she tries so hard to convince herself otherwise, that this is the life that others deserve but not her. It is a dream, he fears, she has harboured for a lifetime though she has told herself it was never for her. He wishes she would look at her, though he fears seeing the look in her eyes, knows it will be something fit to destroy him just by seeing it.

"Everything but you" the words slip unbidden from his lips, without conscious thought and yet he knows they are the truth; that they are words that need to be said. Things though are slipping in to place in his mind, pieces of a jigsaw although he does not see yet the full picture. She had just said something along the lines of she'll give you children, like it is something she herself cannot give him and that makes no sense when he knows she has held his child in her womb; knows that she still does though she won't accept it herself. The other day when they had spoken she had talked off how he made her think her one chance had been taken away; which implied that this conception was something of a miracle, something she had believed impossible and yet she had had previous scares so that too made little sense to him. Her eyes looking back at him outside of the theatre when he had used those words about who would want children with her, and those children being the antichrist slip in too, fighting their way in to the puzzle that has lead them to this point. Those pains too slot in along with the fact she has slipped off for mysterious appointments. So much is coming together in his head, and yet still no answers.

"Don't make this harder" words torn from her throat with a hitch as he hears her trying to control her emotions. He doesn't know what to expect, a showdown like outside of the theatre – an outburst where she tries to push him away – or she'll walk herself like she has more recently. He wants neither, he wants to understand what is going on in her head and that it appears is the hardest option for her. She would rather destroy them both than let someone in – and that frightens him. Someone who would rather hit the destruction button on something good, than reveal the bad that has come before instead she'd rather add to the negative of her life.

"Make what harder?" his word sound desperate, a plea though he does not quite knowing for what he is pleading. He wants nothing more than to cup her cheek in his hand and turn her face towards him, to talk properly but he cannot instead he follows her gaze outwards, wonders if it'll be easier to talk if he too looks away, "because I'll be honest Jac, I don't know how this can be any damn harder"

"I can't"

"Can't what? Jac, being a part from you is one of the single hardest things you have forced me to do. Every day I struggle to be on the same ward as you because for some reason I can see through this act of your enough to want to pull you in to my arms at any given moment and just hold you, not just to drag you in to the nearest free cupboard for a quickie but because I simply want to hold you and love you" words tumble free in to the darkness and he hears her intake of shuddery breath, that he thinks is combined with a slight sob though he cannot bring himself to look.

"Please don't do this" her own plea reaches his ears though they are deaf to the words, he cannot stop this now. Has to let her know how he feels, even though it may mean another rejection. He has to do this while she is stood here, while she appears to be listen though he knows that in reality she only stays because she does not feel up to moving.

"Do what? Tell you the truth?" he asks the questions not wanting an answer, not giving her chance to give one either. More words are on his lips waiting to be freed, to be received by her ears, they are ready having been forced back for so long, "You are single-handedly the most infuriating, frustrating person I have met in my life – you fight against me at every turn, push me away at any opportunity and yet I cannot get enough of you. I was attracted to you that very first moment I saw you, addicted to you soon after. I needed you like I needed a fix, I craved you and suffered when we were a part, and then the feelings changed. What had been lust, a passionate all encompassing lust became something much more special, a feeling that perhaps you could be the one, the woman I had spent my life searching for – you weren't the woman I had expected her to be, you are so much more than that uncomplicated woman of which I had dreamed. You are real and beautiful, incredibly complex and yet there is a simplicity to you – you are a contradiction in terms; difficult to know and yet impossible not to. If I could live without you would my less be easier, less complicated? Almost certainly but it would be so much more empty, my heart having been well and truly stolen by yours truly save for a small portion which currently resides in your womb"

"You're making this worse" her words are low; bitter and sad, "there is nothing within my womb as you put it and there never will be" he thinks he hears the unspoken words, not with you. Hears them echo in the night air though she did not speak them audibly.

"You once told me you loved me" he draws back the memory of that day, he had run to her, needed to know that she was alright. Despite everything he had cared for her then, and despite everything he still cares for her now and still she pushes despite knowing this.

"And you have never said the same to me" she leans forward heavily on the rails, and gasps slightly though she forces herself to recover quickly before he can do or say anything in response, "you say these things about us, and yet you could walk away from me – you couldn't say those three words that I said to you" he thinks back now, thinks of the times when he could have said the words, remembers shouting them jokingly at her but never having said them seriously.

"Would it have made a difference, if I had told you I love you?" he doesn't know why he bothers, asking. He cannot go back and say those words to her, he cannot revisit those moments and yet for some reason it matters to him. He feels her eyes on him, finally she has turned to him. He turns to look at her, sees pain etched in her face though he doesn't know if it is physical or emotion or a combination of the two. She looks fragile before him.

"I don't know"

"Did you not know it – that I loved you?" he watches her face change considering the question he has asked, the way her eyes flutter closed for the briefest of seconds before they open and she returns to looking at his face. He sees her torn between the truth and a lie, trying to decide which is the easier option and the confliction between what she actually thinks it easy.

"I thought I did, hoped maybe but I've been burned" she shakes her head, he wonders what memory has slipped in to her mind that she wants rid of, "this is pointless Jonny, chasing in circles for no reason, rehashing things that don't need going over. It didn't work out like so many things and we just have to accept it, move on rather than keep going this, I can't keep doing this" she sounds so small.

"Tell me Jac, tell me what brought us here because I sure as hell don't understand what went wrong?" he sounds harsher than intended and sees her recoil slightly, he tries to steady his breathing. He doesn't understand where that came from, or why it came out as it did, "I thought things were going well, we had plans – albeit tentative ones – for some sort of future together and then suddenly you were pushing me away, first with words and then the palm of your hand and for the life of me Jac I don't understand how we got from a strong maybe for moving in together to not being together at all – to me having lost everything while you seemingly had everything that mattered even though you no longer had me" he cannot disguise the hurt in his voice as he remembers the incident, remembers how his cheek had stung from the force of her blow. He understood certainly what he had done to cause her to reaction in that way, but he didn't quite understand what had caused her to strip him of everything before that, to force the retaliate and yet he sees the puzzle in his mind and knows the answer she is scared to give is the final piece.

"Don't make me do this" she pleads, so small, so desperate. Fears tinged with hurt and sadness lacing the words. "I can't deal with this today, now" she repeats the words she had said earlier. He can see in her face, the way she is feeling and yet he cannot stop. Slowly, cautiously he rests his hands on hers on top of the metal. She doesn't pull hers or push his away.

"Just tell me" he sees a sheen of tears in her eyes, glistening in the dark making her eyes all the more striking.

"And then you'll walk away" she makes it sound like such a definite, like there is no chance of anything else occurring, "it's better this way. You can go away from here, unburdened to search for the perfect woman who you once dreamed off and I can get on with my life and try to forget what could have been" she is trying to sound stronger, though he can see how much she struggles to do so, the effort it takes.

"I need to know Jac" his own words are pleading once more, and he thinks perhaps he sees a softening in her, the words building though she tries to push them back. Finally she nods her head slightly, eyes locked on his.

"Those words you said to me, outside of the Darwin theatres – that essentially I am so very evil that this aspect of me could infiltrate even the innocent unborn within my uterus – those words destroyed me. I was already hurting, hurting with a pain that seeped in to every part of me and which I saw no way of easing. I have known pain, known it my entire life but this was different; this was the loss of a dream, a future which I had only just started to consider" the words spill forth and she wonders where they came from, they come easily and yet they hurt so much to speak. He blinks rapidly.

"I don't understand Jac"

"I need to go back further. The food poisoning I had, when I was dying from it from what you knew was in fact a laparoscopy performed because of those pains I told you were simply from having my period. I wanted to believe it was only that, rather than facing that something was actually wrong with me, that I am physically damaged as well as emotionally. Endometriosis they told me, my chances of conceiving they said was dramatically reduced now and suddenly that dream I had thought of, considered as something that could happen in my – our – future suddenly seemed much more impossible because why would you want somebody who couldn't give you children when a family is something that you want so very much"

"Oh Jac I" she holds up her hand to halt his words, she still has more she needs to say and she cannot deal with his interruption, knows if he starts to talk her own words will dry up.

"Those were the things I came to realise that morning, the morning before we went in to theatre. I let Tara clip the bleed because my abdomen chose that moment to cramp, and I couldn't trust myself to do it without causing damage. Only that is what happened anyway. Tara was unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything I had been feeling, every emotion I had tried to squander burst from me and directed itself at you – I think Freud would call it displacement. For once in my life I had no control over something, and felt I had no way of regaining that control. I was terrified of you rejecting me – because to me that was the only option, it was the action you would take and I couldn't face that. So rather than face the hurt and the pain of rejection, I chose to hurt you instead. Chose to strip you of everything that had been stripped from me, only my way was harsher and more without warning – you had done nothing deserve it outside of my own head. For when you questioned me in theatre, I felt more of my control slip like I was no longer the person in charge, who knows what she is doing. Already weakened and struggling, I couldn't cope when threatened in what is usually my domain, my safe haven as it were where my pointless uterus doesn't matter. And then you spoke those words, those words that any other day I probably would have brushed away, come up with some sarcastic retort but I couldn't then not when I was already hurting so badly, those words were the final daggers in my heart and my action was a reflex in response to that. I felt guilty, so guilty so hurting you, for physically abusing you – for that was what I did, my words emotional abuse too if we're honest – and how could I make that better? Even if it wasn't for my stubbornness and my pride how on earth could I make that better when I had seen the shock and hurt and sadness in your eyes when the realisation dawned over what I had done to you – so it was fitting that I ended up alone once more. The words you used were designed to hurt me, to make me see that I was wrong in belittling your dream – a dream I had shared with you, still share with you though it pains me to say it. But I couldn't tell you that, because it meant telling you the truth and facing rejection so I chose what I thought was the safe option. It hurt so much what I had done – hurt you too but it felt safer" she forces herself to breath, unsure if there are more words, or if she is finally done.

"Jac, I" he cannot find the words, how to respond to what she has said when it is so much to take in.

"and then that night, when we came together when we created a child. I thought it was a miracle. It was a shock to me, to conceive when I had believed it impossible and I feared that because you said that night was a mistake that you would want rid of the accident, the mistake it created. I couldn't face that either, my one chance being sweep away at my own hand – though I am not sure I could have done it even if you had wanted it; but to know you rejected our child is something I couldn't cope with"

"Jac, this" words seem to make no sense to him now, they come to his lips but he does not know how to make them in to sentences.

"This what doesn't make any sense? I was a rejected child Jonny and I didn't want that for my own baby, couldn't face the idea that it could happen so early in its existence and then that morning there was blood and I knew it was over, gone before it had really begun. It was unlucky you ever came to know, that it has lead us here to this, unlucky too that I knew. It was so very early and I had known my chances of" she swallows hard, facing the words she has dreaded speaking "miscarrying were so much higher, that in reality so many pregnancies are lost anyway so early, before anyone knows it even existed. That's what we have to pretend now" she whimpers slightly and he feels her grip tighten on the rail beneath his hand, he sees the pain pass over her face and the way her body sways.

"Jac" there is panic in his tone and she shakes her head, waiting for the moment to pass. She straightens when it passes and looks at him.

"A cramp, Jonny, endometrial" she says it almost clinical though he sees how much if affects her, how she pulls away one hand to rifle in her pocket and the fall in her face as she fails to come up with the item she desires. She swears softly as she withdraws her hand, and he raises an eyebrow, "my painkillers, I've left them in my desk draw" she offers by way of explanation. She tries to breathe through the pain, whimpers again when another takes her by surprise.

"I want you to get checked over" he tries to sound calmer than he feels, thinking now of what brought him here to her, the line of the stick and now the pain she is in. His brain is flicking through all he knows about endometriosis, he thinks pregnancy is supposed to ease the pain though he isn't certain and this pain she is experiencing most definitely isn't an easing of what he had seen before. He panics that she is miscarrying for real, that again his child is lost.

"Don't be ridiculous, I know what this is and there is nothing they can do" the words are harsh, bitter on her tongue. He frowns, and watches her.

"Let me do it, let me scan you just to check you over" he looks at her with puppy dog eyes, a sincerity in his words, a concern which touches her.

"Because being confronted by the image of my barren useless uterus is something I want to see?" she questions him and he thinks for a moment that she has a point, but he needs to know that they are ok, that there even is a they, knows that even if there isn't he still wants to be there for her.

"You don't have to look, I just need to check" he pauses, knows he has to word this correctly or she'll baulk "you're ok" he adds, and he sees her consider.

"There's absolutely no point but if it'll shut you up and get you off my case, and you promise that no-one will know" the words come finally. A way of getting rid of him, though he knows that is futile. He is here now to stay, he just needs to prove it to her regardless of what the future holds for them.


	8. Chapter 8

**I think this is the last part - and it has taken me an absolute age to write. I started writing it on the 27th June and had intended to finish it after I received a phonecall with my grades on that day - but that didn't quite work out and I've just kind of had a block with it. I'm still not convinced that it's quite how I wanted it - though it does end how I had always planned it too. So hopefully this is ok :)**

He can tell that she's nervous as he pulls her in to the currently unoccupied bay 3 on Darwin ward, motioning towards Mo as he does so; a silent command for her to keep watch. He sees her nod, before he pulls closed the door, secluding them from the ward. He had stashed the machine in here while she'd forced down some water at his insistence. Now he watched as she quickly pulled closed the curtain designed for patient privacy though in reality they offer very little. Still at the very least it will stop prying eyes from looking through the bay door and seeing them, though equally he thinks the drawn curtain could draw unwanted suspicion given the bays current status as empty.

He moves to the end of the bed, the one with the machine alongside and attempts to grab the control panel, wanting to lower it for her, to make getting on to the bed easier. But before he manages, he sees her clamber up and then lower herself until she is settled. He watches her carefully, sees how she barely even acknowledges the machine, barely even looks to him either. There is so much pain in her face, though he at the very least knows she has taken some pain killers to take the edge off the physical. The emotional he knows will be so much harder to deal with.

He walks to the machine, and looks at it, he is so certain of what it will show and yet there is a part of him now that is scared. He worries that he is wrong, that she is correct and what they will do to her. She is already hurting so badly, that he couldn't quite cope if he caused her anymore and yet he cannot not know – and after everything he doesn't quite think he can trust a pregnancy testing kit. This way at least the answer is definite, undeniable. He pulls free a paper towel and places it in her hand, he watches her fingers grip it though her face shows no acknowledgment.

"To place in your trousers" he informs her, though he knows she knows all of this; that had it been in any other situation she would inform him of this with a barbed comment. Instead she moves her hand slowly bringing the item closer to herself but making no move to bare the skin of her abdomen, "that gel gets everywhere" he tries to lighten the atmosphere and he watches her blink and then nod in agreement. He had hoped for the smallest of smiles.

"It doesn't have too" she speaks so softly, in a voice which is small and distant and he knows her meaning without questioning; knows she is suggesting that he doesn't do the scan. He wishes he could get through to her, but she is so very closed off again. She is trying to protect herself, but doing so much more damage in the process.

"It won't take a second" he tries to sound calm, to keep his voice normal. He sees her close her eyes as she pulls up her uniform top, her fingers coming to rest briefly on the flat of her abdomen. A fleeting moment that had he blinked he'd have missed it, he sees the way her eyes fly open at the realisation of where her fingers had come to touch and how quickly she withdrew them. He sees the pain all the more raw reflected in her green orbs. With a hesitant movement, she places the paper towel in the waist band of her trousers, fingers hovering over her skin to avoid touching that part of her body again. He pulls free the transducer probe and holds it in his hand, squeezing free some gel on to its surface. "You know this is going to be very cold"

"I know the drill Jonny" her eyes are focused now on the wall in front of her. Her body so tense as she awaits the moment he'll place the probe against her skin. He knows she won't relax until this is over, knows that she is expecting his confirmation and his apology for putting her through this when she was right; knows that she then expects to leave him once more to find somewhere private in which to break once more having been forced to do this. He places the probe to her skin and hears the gasp and squeal that escape her lips as the cold hits her.

"I did warn you" the words are whispered, as he pulls up the screen. He turns his attention to it, moving the probe slightly around to try to find what he is looking for. His gaze searches the image in front of him trying to make sense of what he sees, trying to find the one thing he is looking forward. The probe stills in his hand. He hears a sad sigh escape her lips.

"You don't have to say it" There is something about her voice that almost makes him think she is reassuring him. Still laced with pain, it strikes him that in that moment she is feeling for him as well as herself. He wishes he could turn to look at her, to do something but he is frozen, gaze pinned on the screen in front of him. He knows she is still looking at the wall, can feel it in his being that she cannot bear to bring herself to look, knowing what she knows.

"Say what?" Finally he chokes free words, though they feel alien; like they have not truly come from him. He thinks of it like when going to the dentist, when your mouth is numbed and speech comes uneasily, unnaturally. Once more he hears that said sigh, the one of acceptance and regret. He hears her breathing in the stillness of the room, how she is trying to find the words.

"That it isn't there" her voice sounds so very distant from him, like she is somewhere very far away and not beside him, "That's why you're doing this, you expected to see a six week old being nestled safely within me, heart beating steadily despite my insistence that it wasn't to be. I knew it, but you had to see it for yourself and that is why I've let you do this"

"I" he doesn't know how to formulate the sentence, how to reach her properly. His mind is whirling and yet he still feels so frozen. He feels like someone has pressed paused on his life, and yet things are still moving, happening around him.

"It's ok Jonny" still that reassuring edge to her voice, a softness that is almost uncharacteristic of her and yet it doesn't strike him as unnatural, "I know you wanted this to go your way, that you could somehow fix this and me but this is probably for the best y'know. That sounds ridiculous, I know. When they told me I couldn't have children, suddenly that was something I wanted – or maybe it was something I always wanted be refused to let myself see. In times when I've held babies, I've thought maybe, maybe it would be nice one day to be a mother, to have this for myself but there's a difference between holding a child for a moment and loving it for a lifetime and I'm honestly not sure if I would have been capable of doing that. Would it have been fair to bring a child in to a world when I couldn't guarantee it a life of love when I have known how lonely that life is and to bring it in to the mess that is this situation we are in? Maybe this was all just fates way of telling us that this wasn't right"

"Jac" he says her name trying to draw her back to him, but he feels that she is lost once more inside of her own head, as she tries to reason with herself once more because that is her way. She forces herself to believe something that she knows not to be true because she thinks it'll protect her from pain.

"You know I'm right" he thinks that maybe he can hear the slightest of smirks in her voice, though he doubts it will have made its way to her face, "this was all a mistake, maybe it would have been a good mistake but more likely than not I would have mucked it up in some way, destroyed it somehow. That's just the way it is, the way I am. Children deserve more than me, more than I can give them and while yes I would like the feel of a baby in my arms and knowing he or she is mine, I know that it is a selfish – and now impossible – dream. Selfish to subject an innocent life to a mother like me, to want something even though I cannot give it what it needs most and now it is impossible anyway; the fates not wanting to run the risk of it happening, so cutting the threads on that part of my canvas. The universes way of protecting the innocent from the likes of me. I am not mother material, the cloth from which I am cut prevents it, and so despite the fact this is slowly killing me inside I have to force myself to accept this simple truth"

"Jac" he tries again just repeating her name, needing her to hear his voice and to draw her mind back to him, and what he needs to say. Words bubble on his lips, but he cannot speak them yet. She is in no place to hear them, and yet they are ready and waiting.

"Children, babies, they know when their being rejected" He thinks now that she is talking without realising it, that words are escape her lips without conscious effort, or acceptance. He knows these are the thoughts that disturb her mind, or some of them at least, and that now they are forcing themselves free. So much of her thought processes are closed off, that it feels strange to have been given even this small glimpse. He wonders if he would ever know more than this, hopes one day he will. "And as much as I told myself I want this, that maybe I could do it because I was trying to love it so much already, maybe it knew. Maybe my subconscious was already there, already rejecting it and I was just not aware of it, or trying not to be but maybe it knew, or my body knew and rather than subject it to that, this happened. I wouldn't want anyone to have to feel like that, and I think I was in denial that, that is how this all would have ended up with a child feeling unloved because it was stuck with me and me feeling guilty that I allowed it to happen" he can hear the irrational nature of her words, and yet there is something about the way she says them that tells him that to her this is an entirely rational train of thought.

"Jac, please" he pleads with her, he cannot take much more of her words. He needs to hear her story, and yet he cannot face any more now. He has seen parts of her mind, and he knows there is worse to come, that her story hovers near the surface. He knows that she is not strong enough now to tread that path, and he is not sure he can do much for her in this moment in his near frozen state. He needs to stem the words and yet he fears doing so will stop them forever.

"It's for the best" he hears the sadness in her words; the way it comes out in a chant, a mantra she has been repeating to herself until she can almost believe it. Only believing it doesn't make it any easier. The belief doesn't ease the hurt, if he's not mistaken it makes it worse because it feeds those voices in her head.

"Stop" it comes out as a command more than a plea, and that shocks even him. He feels her startle beneath the probe and sees the image on the screen jitter with the movement. He pulls his eyes away and looks to her, she has turned from the wall now and is looking at him. So many emotions in her face, something that threatens to overwhelm him. The realisation of just how much she needs him, as he looks at her – vulnerable, her feelings bared for him to see for once in her life.

"I can't" the words whispered as she looks up and meets his gaze. He sees the sheen of tears, her eyes sparkle beneath them. Still he holds the probe against her, and he waits unsure of if there are more words to come and unsure of how he can respond to her now. She swallows hard, pushing back the ball in her throat that threatens to escape in a sob that she can't allow herself to release, "I just, maybe, it'll hurt less this way, because it was best for the baby and that's what matters and if I think that maybe it won't hurt me so much, but then if it doesn't hurt that just proves it doesn't it?" he hears so much desperation and he wishes he could take her in his arms, that he could fix everything she has been forced in to believing as true. She is begging to be told different, and yet would never accept it.

"Look at the screen" he says the words quietly, and she shakes her head.

"I can't"

"For me"

He sees her consider this, how she draws in her bottom lip and bites it as she thinks. He wonders if she understands, he watches her closely trying to puzzle out what is going on in her mind. Finally she twists her head slightly, he sees in her eyes the defeat, that she thinks this is the only way of getting away from him and this room and a truth she has long accepted. He watches as her eyes settle on the screen and the image in front of her, but she is not seeing, not really. He turns to look as she does. With a shaking hand, he reaches to touch the screen.

"Our baby's heartbeat" he whispers, the flicker just slightly above his finger. It's little more than a splodge on the screen, and yet it is there. He watches it, and he smiles before he turns back to look at her. He sees tears run unashamedly down her cheeks, as she watches a heart beating within her.

He knows that time is short, that Mo can only hold of the rabble for so long but he daren't stop her now. She has pushed herself up on the bed, and he has to manoeuver the probe careful in order to not lose the image. He shifts, moves himself to sit next to her holding the probe. Gently he places an arm around her body and feels the slight weight of her fall against him, eyes still glued to the screen, one hand having come to rest beside the probe. He changes his grip allowing his fingers to lock with hers, the pair of them now securing the probe.

"We're really going to do this" she whispers, voice awed and shaky. She drags her eyes away to look up at his face, he tilts his head downwards and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"We're really going to do this" he tightens his grip around her, she leans on him heavily and he can see her exhaustion. He wonders if she can see it in his face, how this has preyed on him. How much he has needed her, just as she has needed him. He holds her, wishing that how they are in this moment is how they could be for a lifetime. He kisses her forehead once more, and lowers his mouth to her ear to whisper, "together"


End file.
